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JUST A FANTASY (12/05/2023) back "I wouldn't do it for real," "I just like seeing fear in their eyes." Do you fantasize about the part where a middle-aged father Vomits in the middle of the night, again, as he does once a month, Remembering what happened to him when he was six years old, Even though it didn't hurt when it happened? (Which is why he can't tell his wife or therapist and why nobody knows Why he routinely vomits at night; his ten year-old daughter hears him heaving And she sings her favorite cartoon theme song to distract from the sound) Do you fantasize about the part where an 85 year-old grandmother Sobs and shakes uncontrollably as her middle-aged daughter consoles her mother, Who is remembering what her own father did to her at eleven, Something that neither of them want to tell the kids visiting their grandma, Why nobody can talk about their great-grandpa? (They don't talk about how he shot himself either) Do you fantasize about the part where a 64 year-old army veteran, Blank-eyed, wall-punching, screaming with rage, tattoos covering both arms, Has a violent flashback to when he was a screaming, bleeding, sobbing five year-old? A memory that mingles bitterly with his memories of combat, dismemberment, And screaming, bleeding, sobbing five year-olds that remind him of himself? (He screams at his wife too and can't figure out how to stop) Do you fantasize about the part where there's a scar left on the breast of a twelve year-old, From the day she was raped, a scar that is there when she's 30, when she's 40, Going through a divorce, when she's 50 and overweight and an alcoholic and stinks of cigarettes, When she's 60 and in rehab, when she's 70 and finally sleeping easy at night In spite of the memory still sneaking up on her sometimes, when she's 75 and made her peace But no longer tells anyone, when it's on her cold, 79 year-old booze-aged corpse in a casket decorated By flowers and surrounded by weeping family (not her ex-husband)? What about when it has become dust, Along with the rest of her body? When could it have happened to them, the 60s, 50s, 40s? Black and white photos, sepia-tinted, of properly-posed little children, As old photos tended to pose children in their time, dressed conservatively. They hold those photos now in their old, wrinkled, gnarled hands, With the big veins and liver spots, the shaking, the arthritic joints. (Hands that tried to pry larger hands off when they were very small) Do you fantasize about the part where you look me in the eye As I stare right through you and tell you that when it happens, it's forever, And when it's done it's done, but it's never really over, Because you take it with you everywhere, forever, for the rest of your life, Through your breakups and college degrees and marriages and divorces And when you're stationed in Afghanistan or reviving a patient, And when you're holding your newborn, when you're biking through the country, When you're telling your mother for the first time since it happened (17 years ago), When you're doing pushups every single day, tattoos on your face, Staring at concrete walls because you killed some fuck outside the bar, (He tipped you over the edge because he called you what "he" called you), And it's only until your vision grows dark and the monitors go flat And the doctors tell your family that they did what they could? Because that's when it ends. The guy who did it got off scot-free. He later ran a property investment firm In a pleasant town with neatly-trimmed hedges. His wife, kids, grandkids, and coworkers Said he was a real charming, friendly guy, Everyone cried at his funeral, There are new flowers on his grave every month. "Businessman and beloved husband, father, and grandfather" He liked the look of fear too. Does anyone fantasize about the part where she says yes?  |
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